


Before We Were Broken (What Happened Before)

by ddotmac



Series: What Happened [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mutal Pining, Threesome - M/M/M, honestly a bunch of this is just stupid song references and if you get them all i'll give you $5, how do you tag a fanfic?? lmao, it's a poly relationship but whatever, no fewer than three references to white christmas overall, strictly platonic lapdances, yeah i know it's just gonna be Like That okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddotmac/pseuds/ddotmac
Summary: Felix and Locus, powerful as they may be, were not always this unattached; nor did they detest each other nearly this much. In stories pulled from the latter's recollection, all will be told in this three-part tale of deceit, descension, and desolation.





	1. Awkward Beginnings

Sam carefully inhaled and exhaled. In through his nose, out through his mouth. His muscles strained, sweat rolling down his face and dripping beneath his chin, as he pumped his arms once more and pulled the barbell up to shoulder height. He grimaced, allowing it to drop back down to the ground without actually dropping it. As he gulped down air, his spotter, Tyler, patting him on the shoulder, he glanced up towards the door. He wasn't expecting there to be someone standing there, and he paused, making eye contact. The boy - around Sam's age and skinny with brown hair - jumped and scurried off down the hallway.  
  
Sam wordlessly accepted the water bottle Tyler handed him, not having processed anything he had said. "I don't think this exercise plan is working," he said, furrowing his eyebrows and unscrewing the cap.  
  
"Well, he certainly does," Tyler said, elbowing Sam. "Who was that guy?"  
  
He followed Tyler's gaze towards the door. "Oh, Isaac?" He took a drink. "We're not friends, I just have a few classes with him."  
  
"Aw, c'mon, you can tell me anything," Tyler practically whined, moving in front of Sam so that he couldn't escape his questioning. The latter rolled his eyes. "You like him?"  
  
Sam scoffed and pushed him away, rolling his shoulders a few times. "Nah, I'm straight." He bit his lip, holding his water bottle up to his mouth hesitantly. "...and even if I wasn't, he's not my type."  
  
He didn't have a girlfriend at the time, but he'd had a few in the past, and wasn't particularly fond of it so much as he felt like it was a necessary feather in his cap. He wasn't the sports star of the school or anything, but he was up there. Certainly one of the most attractive upperclassmen, but much too humble to admit it. He was also in good standing to be valedictorian. He was the ideal boyfriend to take home to your parents in every conceivable way. Of course girls were flinging themselves all over him. He just couldn't figure out why he didn't want any of them.  
  
Isaac, on the other hand, was doing pretty well for himself flying just under the radar. His grades were nothing to write home about, but he was a charmer and held the attention of both girls and boys. He usually wasn't that invested, doing things more for his personal entertainment than anything else, confident and in control. So it was weird when someone he didn't even know made him so nervous, hoping to be noticed and praying he didn't say anything stupid.  
  
They really only had one class together and it was math. Isaac had no issues with the content, but asking to borrow Sam's notes was a conversation starter; plus, he just liked to look at his handwriting. It was always so tidy, the letters uniform and usually in blue pen. He couldn't explain the way he was feeling, but most of his attempts to kindle a friendship didn't work out. He would lie in bed at night, frustrated, wondering if maybe Sam didn't like him that way and just didn't know how to tell him.  
  
But still, he made a habit of lingering as he walked past the weight room door (although he’d never be caught dead doing it) to see if he could see him. Breathing heavily, scraps of hair dangling in his face, the veins in his arms pulsing. There was something about him that Isaac was never really able to put his finger on.

They would go on to know each other in passing. Going to the same parties, but not together, working together on projects, but not by choice, and occasionally eating lunch together, because they were both there and not for any particular reason. They shared jokes and sometimes intricacies, but never the intimacy that Isaac wanted to share. He found himself wanting to spend nights snuggled up with Sam on his couch, watching a terrible movie and making fun of the actors. He wanted goofy dates with ice cream and window shopping and to just hold his hand walking down the street on a sunny day. It was weird, and he felt vulnerable.

They graduated in the same year, standing in a crowd of a few hundred tossing their motorboards in the air. He made sure to get a picture with Sam, insisting it was for posterity, who didn't seem to mind one bit. What he didn't know was how long Isaac intended to keep the picture, and how lovingly he would look at it for the remainder of his life. They said their goodbyes, promising this wouldn't be the last time they saw each other, but they both knew it probably wasn't true. There would be parties hosted by alumni and reunions in ten or fifteen years, but that was about all they had to look forward to.

Sam, despite being very intelligent and capable enough to do a number of high-paying jobs, had no plans for the future. He felt restless living an average life. Going through his day-to-day without a consistent schedule or even a specific goal in mind was driving him mad. He was antsy all the time, in need of something that would require his full attention, that he could throw himself into and be satisfied with doing. So when The Great War came to a head and the UNSC desperately flooded his town looking for recruits, he made the decision that would ultimately change his life forever.


	2. War Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Isaac find themselves meeting once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would update this weekly, but I got excited and wanted to write one today so I did

Sam was already in love with his life in the military, despite it only having been about two weeks. He was at the top of his class in basic, enjoying the physical challenges presented to him. None of them were too difficult for him, but they required hard work and concentration. He fell into the rhythm of it quite easily. Waking up at dawn, tidying up and eating quickly, before spending the day running and doing pull-ups and learning how to be the hero the galaxy needed. (And not to sound self-aggrandizing, but he wasn't too worried about dying in the field.) He could think of no better way to spend his time, no better use for his abilities. He became accustomed to following orders, learned the ins and outs of weaponry and combat, and he was doing very, very well for himself.

It came as no surprise when he was assigned to the elite squadron who would be taking the brunt of the work, but it still excited him to no end. He was thrilled to be doing something meaningful, contributing to a cause. The team consisted of about six people, not including their captain, handpicked from the thousands of recruits that were all being trained to join the armed forces. He had to say goodbye to his acquaintances, and there was something uncomfortable between them as they made their final exchange. It was very likely that they would never see one another again, and probably just as likely that many of the soldiers below Sam would die before seeing his face again. He smiled and wished them luck, and they returned the sentiment, but something grim passed between them in that moment that Sam was eager to let go of. He left for his new barracks as quickly as possible.

He was introduced into his new space, a room hardly bigger than the last, but at least the beds were all individual. He'd grown a little tired of sharing a bunk. Setting his bag down, he undid the latches that attached his helmet to the rest of his armor and heard the hiss as he pulled it off, shaking out his hair and sucking in a breath of fresh air (at least, about as fresh as it could be on a space outpost). He put it down on the bed and unzipped his bag, pulling out his clothes and the few worldly possessions he'd brought with him.

"Sam?"

He started slightly and turned his head, seeing none other than Isaac Gates standing there in the green and khaki UNSC regulation armor that signified their squad, a Scout helmet tucked under one arm and disbelief written all over his face. Sam's mouth fell open. It'd been months. Isaac nervously laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I-- hey, we, um..."

"We had trig together," Sam finished for him. "I remember. Isaac, right?"

Isaac looked almost relieved and a full grin split across his face now. "Yep." He paused, searching desperately for a conversation topic. "I didn't know you had any interest in joining the military."

"Nor I you." Sam pulled a neatly folded outfit from his bag and put it on his pillow, shooting him a lopsided smile that made his heart skip a few beats. "Small world."

Isaac exhaled shakily and cleared his throat. "Do you mind if I stay and chat? I don't really know anyone else here."

"Of course!" Sam said cheerily, pulling his stuff to one side to give Isaac room to sit. "It'll be nice to catch up. I'll admit, I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Isaac sat and it occurred to him that the other four were only just now milling in. Somewhat frantically, he said, "Hey, would you mind if I took the bed next to you?" Sam froze and shot him a glance as if to say, _why are you asking me?_ before shrugging and returning to his work with a reaffirming grunt. As quickly as he could while being nonchalant, he retrieved his things and plopped them down on the bed to Sam's left, closest to the wall. His heart was racing in his ears.

_The universe has given you a second chance, Gates. You can do this. Wait. Fuck. He might be dating someone. Is he dating someone?? Fuck fuck fuck I didn't think this through._

"So, um, how's it been? Talking to any girls from school?"

Sam didn't even look up. "Heh, no. There weren't exactly any that kept my attention."

_Okay, that's a start._ "Shit, sorry for assuming. Any boys?"

His breath hitched momentarily, but he caught himself before it was noticeable. He glanced up and met Isaac's gaze. "Nope. Just you."

_FUCK. WAS THAT A FLIRT OR JUST A JOKE. WHAT IS HE TRYING TO SAY. SHOULD I FLIRT BACK. I GUESS I'M FLIRTING BACK._

"Well, lucky me," he said in what he hoped was a sexy voice. "I've actually had my eye on you for quite some time."

"Have you?" Sam replied conversationally, folding a shirt. "Well, that's flattering. I know I do this military stuff pretty well, but I never even saw you in basic. You should have come up and said something. I would have loved to talk with you." Isaac deflated. _Okay, so that was not a flirt._

He blew through his lips, trying to find some way to change the subject, when his eyes came to rest on Sam's helmet. His eyebrows furrowed and he picked it up, looking it over. "How do you even see out of this thing?"

Sam pointed to four tiny rectangles arranged into a square in the middle, and Isaac was honestly only seeing them for the first time. "Cameras," he said. "There's an interface on the inside."

Isaac frowned. "Why not choose one with a visor? That seems much simpler."

"Well, for one, I have exactly zero risk of getting my eyeballs shot out," he said, nodding towards Isaac's helmet, "for two, it's not an unnatural shape, so I can blend into my environments better, which will come especially in handy since I intend to go into sniping, and for three, it doesn't look like a half-opened pistachio." He turned Isaac's helmet onto its side so that the visor was turned toward the ceiling as though to prove his point.

Isaac made an insulted noise and gave Sam a playful slap, who laughed and cringed away. "Asshole!" he said, laughing and pulling the helmet closer to him defensively. "Scout helmets are cool. It really ties my look together."

Sam looked him up and down, taking in the placement of his armor pieces and their coloration. They had all been given the privilege of picking their own sets of armor. It was considered a small price to pay for the most elite group of soldiers in the UNSC risking their lives. To Sam, it served as a sort of grim reminder, but he liked the Locus armor a lot, and scanning Isaac now, he gained an appreciation for his motif too. "Well, I can't argue with that."

Isaac coughed into his elbow, turning his face away, and pretended he wasn't wondering if that was Sam checking him out.

"Assuming we're going to be in this for the long haul - and I don't know why we wouldn't be - we'll have lots of time to talk, for a while," Sam said. "So right now, you should probably get to work on settling in. I know I'd like to wrap this up quickly. And you, uh, you'll probably need some sleep soon." Isaac blinked at the sudden concern. It felt more like an admission than a suggestion.

Isaac nodded and stood up. "You're right. I'll go work on unpacking." Sam dipped his head in acknowledgement and Isaac walked over to his bed, thoughts racing. He knew he wasn't the one who needed to be reminded to rest.


	3. Blood and Salt Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns that there are some things he didn't know about Isaac.

Sam always believed that one of his best qualities was his ability to keep his wits about him in a stressful situation. He was level-headed and rarely succumbed to pressure. It was this ability that allowed him so many opportunities in education and in his new career, but high school, as it turns out, is very different from the military. He continued to re-learn this as time went on, and the effects it had on himself and others. He noticed things about Isaac that he had never seen before. He supposed that he was seeing him in two completely opposite environments, but the difference was still jarring. Sam was not used to this headstrong, take-action version of Isaac, that contrasted so deeply with the bashful, personable Isaac he went to school with. He thought about it sometimes, but mostly chalked it up to everyone putting on new faces in new scenarios. _I'm probably no stranger to the concept either, as much as I'd like to think I'm not,_ he would think, and promptly shut down his concerns. But he always wondered.

"We need to go in," Isaac would always say when their captain stalled before a fight.

"I'll do it," Isaac invariably declared when a mission was proposed.

"Let's go already," Isaac whined, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting to move out.

He practically woke up and fell asleep with a gun in his hand.

"I don't want your criticism, Private Gates," the Captain (Captain Langley, as he insisted they refer to him) usually responded, although he would also usually concede that Isaac was right. Sam, while smart, wasn't much of a strategist, and found it much easier to simply follow orders and only weigh in when he felt he was qualified. This was rarely a problem until the encounter.

Sam and Isaac had fallen behind the group when they heard shouting up ahead and the cocking of rifles. Looking at each other nervously, they bolted forward. As they approached, Sam's mouth opened in surprise upon seeing the alien tucked into itself ( _possibly injured?_ he thought) in the bottom of a shallow pit. Its eyes seemed to be fixated on one of them. He avoided eye contact and sputtered out, "Why is it lookin' at me..?!"

"Maybe you're just its type," Isaac said teasingly as they joined the circle surrounding the creature. He gave it a moment's thought before adding, only half-joking, "I say we blow its brains out."

Sam sighed. "That's your answer to everything." The seriousness and frequency with which Isaac was starting to say things like that was a genuine cause for concern at this point. The alien turned its gaze to Sam and he tensed up, feeling vulnerable, almost scrutinized. He didn't know much about normal alien behavior, but the way it was breathing seemed labored, a little too off-beat. A pang of pity struck through him for whatever they were probably going to do to this poor thing. Enemy or not, the wounded were still wounded, and the helpless would unconditionally be preyed upon by their aggressors. He swallowed.

"Hey!" Langley barked, drawing the alien's attention. "You quit eyeballing my men and give me some answers. Are you alone?"

It looked around the group in what Sam could only assume was fear and made some garbled sounds that he couldn't understand. He wanted to tell his captain that this was pointless, that the creature obviously didn't speak any human language and that simply moving on would cause them no strife. But instinct told him to keep his mouth shut, so he did.

"What's it saying?" Scott called out to no one in particular, still visibly shaken.

It made a few more pathetic squeaks. Against his better judgment, Sam said, "Sir, I think it's trying to surrender."

"Bullshit. I think it's stalling." Isaac's immediate response set his heart pounding harder. He was liking this new side of him less and less. "Sir, this feels like a trap."

The alien said something else, but it went unnoticed as Langley replied sternly, "Private, I did not ask you for your opinion." It made more noises, ones that sounded more infuriated, and all guns went up immediately. There was a brief moment of shocked silence where no one knew what would happen next.

Isaac said lowly, so that only Sam and the captain could hear, "Sir, this thing's wasting our time, and we're in no position to start taking prisoners."

Langley sighed, lowering his gun. "Fine." He turned to Sam. "You two, move into one of these buildings and take it out. Quietly."

"Sir, it's scared," Sam protested, fighting the growing realization that sharing his opinion was the worst possible option he had.

"If it's smart, it should be."

"If we could restrain it, we could--"

Langley turned to face Sam with his whole body, shouting, "Son, you listen here!" Sam snapped to attention, his heart pounding in his ears. "You are a _soldier!_ In this war, you are nothing but a suit of armor and a gun! So when I give you an order, you _damn well follow it!_ Do I make myself clear?!"

Sam allowed a moment to pass. A breath in. A breath out. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said shortly. "The rest of you, move out. We have a lot of ground to cover."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few days later, they had returned to their base, and Sam had spent every night since then turning the captain's words over in his head. He kept hearing him saying that he was 'nothing but a suit of armor and a gun'. That couldn't possibly be true. Surely he still had morality, the will to make choices, be merciful in the face of an unforgiving world. There was no way that that was simply not an option anymore.

He'd been avoiding Isaac, too, angry at him for making the mere comment that inevitably doomed the poor creature. He held the fate of an entire existence in his hands and acted as if he absolutely knew best, stamping it out as soon as he got the chance. They hadn't spoken since being ordered to kill the thing. Sam made sure that it went out humanely, killing it as quickly as possible with a brief shot to the head. He might have suggested burying it if he thought Isaac wouldn't laugh in his face at the mere idea.

The latter had been desperately searching for some way to clear the tension, but Sam had ignored him every time he started a conversation, and he was starting to get frustrated.

As he sat on his bed facing the wall, Isaac cleared his throat and took a tentative step towards him. "Hey, uh, are you alright?"

Sam turned to look at Isaac over his shoulder. "What gave you the idea that I'm not?" he said, hoping that the sting in his voice hurt.

"Look, if this is about the alien--"

"What else could it possibly be about?" Sam snapped, bolting to his feet. He still refused to look at Isaac. "You're better than this. You-- you had the choice to save a life and you refused."

Isaac sputtered for a moment. "The life of an enemy? That's-- is that really worth more to you than the life of your friends? Your species? If we let it go, it might have _killed_ us."

"The poor thing was injured!" He threw his hands up and whipped around, the fury on his face taking Isaac completely by surprise. "It was alone and you don't know that it would have turned hostile! Do you not see the inherent value in life?"

Isaac frowned and was quiet for a second. "Sam, we had to think about ourselves."

Sam bit down on his tongue. It was the first time he'd known Isaac's reasoning to be selfish. (It was normally just a touch below reckless, but Sam would gladly take that over this new philosophy in a heartbeat.) In all their time together, he believed that the military was supposed to make you more selfless, more aware of the effect your actions had on a greater purpose. He simply couldn't understand how someone could not see it. It would do no good to attempt to explain this to Isaac further, who only believed that every single one of his enemies deserved nothing short of death and there was nothing to be done about it.

He sat down on his bed and began removing his armor, tamping down the anger that had flared up so quickly. "Some of us need to think of ourselves a little less."

There was no more room for feelings and opinions. The time for being selfish was over.

Nothing but a suit of armor and a gun.


	4. Went By So Quickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Isaac are victorious, but at an unbelievable cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably have another chapter today or tomorrow. I have a lot of ideas for this next part.

_Sam scrambled out behind a barricade, bullets chasing his feet, his heart pounding painfully hard. He was drenched in sweat and panting hard, clutching his rifle as though it were a lifeline. The soldier in front of him swung around and blasted his attackers; either they all fell or the remainder retreated. He recognized the Scout armor and relief flooded his senses. He saw more approaching and gathered his strength to shout, "Check your three!"_

_Isaac whipped around, startled, but gunned down the oncoming aliens nonetheless. "Are you injured?" he called out, sweeping the area with his eyes and reloading almost absentmindedly._

_"Nothing major," Sam replied, pushing himself to his feet. He was covered in bruises and wasn't honestly sure if he was just sweating or if his nose was bleeding, but it was nothing that couldn't wait. "I've got your six." He kept his back to Isaac as they slowly turned, looking for any signs of danger. It was strangely quiet. A feeling of dread started creeping up into Sam's mouth. "Where is everyone else?"_

_"I know Scott's with Langley," Isaac said. He was struggling to remain upright. "Jacob's got the trooper squad up ahead."_

_"Alec?"_

_Another gaze. Seemingly nothing. That was really the opposite of encouraging. "He's searching a bit back for stragglers."_

_"And Gabriel?"_

_Isaac was silent._

_Sam had suspected this, but he still felt a grim sort of sadness. "God dammit." His heart jumped into his throat as he struggled to keep still. "Contact."_

_Isaac swallowed. "How many?"_

_"It looks like it's about five, but I--" He balked and recounted. "It's definitely more than ten. Maybe fifteen? No, that's.. that's..."_

_The understanding passed between them, fear and some other intangible emotion like a bucket of ice water down both of their backs. "Isaac?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"It's been an honor."_

_Isaac's grip on his gun tightened. "If I die, remember me as I was."_

_"A mouthy asshole?"_

_He exhaled in what could almost be considered a laugh, the joke relieving him somewhat. "I'll be sure to remember you as a stuck-up smartass." His heart felt like it was about to burst from his ribcage. He breathed in and out carefully, desperately attempting to force it down. "How close?"_

_"About fifty feet," Sam said, making sure his glance was discreet. "They still think we're unawares."_

_Isaac grunted. "Alright. Say no prayers."_

_Sam accepted that this may be the last time they repeated this mantra before replying, "Take no prisoners."_

_"Okay. On three."_

_That was the last coherent memory Sam had before everything became a blur._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He came to on Isaac's back, his arms slung around his neck and his legs propped up by his elbows, like a disproportionate piggyback ride. He was clearly having a difficult time carrying him alone, but he was clearly refusing to let anyone else help. "Isaac?" he mumbled, his words feeling heavy and mushy. Isaac started and turned his head to look at him as much as he could.

"He-hey, guys, he's awake!" he cried out, and Sam was stunned by the concern in his voice. Isaac let him down, never letting go of him. "How do you feel? Can you walk?"

Sam groaned, a dull throb starting to pound in the front of his head. "Yeah, I can walk." His face felt swollen. Every muscle in his body screamed, but he knew he had to pull his weight. He threw his arm over Isaac's shoulders and Isaac wrapped one supportively around his waist. His feet dragged on the ground, but he was, at the very least, walking, much of his weight on Isaac. "What happened?" he asked, still slurring.

"We were mowing those guys down, but they almost had us when the Captain showed up," Isaac answered, his voice obviously strained. "You were already weak, but one of them hit you with a concussion rifle."

He looked down at Isaac, hope starting to flower in his gut. He could barely articulate himself at this point. "Did we do it..?" was all he managed to get out.

Langley approached from his other side and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "We did it. It's over." Sam could hear the smile in his voice. It was so rare, it barely felt real. "You can go home."

Sam felt out of nowhere as though he were about to cry. He tumbled forward just as suddenly. The last thing he heard was Isaac yelling, "Hey, wait--!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When he roused again, he was covered in bandages and felt as though he were on fire. He groaned, begging for the deepness of sleep to wash back over him.

"Sam?"

He wouldn't open his eyes. He wouldn't.

"Sam, wake up."

It hurt too much. He could deny existing for a little while longer.

"Sam, please.."

_Is he...crying?_

Sam, kicking himself every second of the way, peeled his eyelids open and squinted into the too-bright lights. Isaac was sitting next to him in a chair, stunned tears streaming down his face. "Holy shit, don't fucking scare me like that," he said, swiping at his face. "Asshole."

Sam smiled, and it hurt. "Where are we?"

"We're at the Sentry Hospital, just outside of Brentsburg," Isaac said, squeezing his arm. "Langley has to sign you out before you can be officially discharged, but it was the closest place. I said I would watch you."

Sam tried to sit up straighter and winced, but still managed to adjust himself in spite of Isaac's panicked attentions, insisting he was fine before settling back down. "So can you go get him?"

Isaac blinked. "What, you want to leave now?"

"Of course. I want to go home."

He looked almost hurt by those words. Sam understood; they had become such close friends, and it was distinctly possible that they lived thousands of miles away from one another. He was reluctant to leave that behind too, even though they could still chat long-distance if it came down to it. But he had a house away from his parents where he could do whatever he wanted, and enough money from the military to keep him afloat for quite some time. He wanted nothing more than to go and relax, recover from this mess and distance himself from the difficulties it caused him. He still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, dreaming of all the aliens he had killed, crying out helplessly as he watched from inside his own body. "Sure," Isaac said carefully. "I'll go get him." He stood up and straightened his clothes, and it occurred to Sam that this was the first time in as long as he could remember that he'd seen Isaac in civilian's clothes. His t-shirt was loose and his sweatpants framed him nicely. He didn't know how to feel about this. "Keep in touch, yeah?"

Sam grinned, his eyes glittering. _Home._ "Of course."

He felt ecstatic as his former captain wheeled him out of the hospital, with assignments from the doctor to do a few things to ensure he was in good condition. He got a personal escort to his house and he walked inside, alone for the first time in years, completely safe and free. This had to be home.


	5. Gee, I Wish I Was Back in the Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam realizes the army wasn't really bad at all and makes a friend.

Sam _hated_ civilian life.  
  
It had been months, _months_ since his discharge and he had no idea what to do anymore. Getting up early, training, fighting for his life all felt like routine. He could hardly sleep. He spent countless hours pacing around his living room, buzzing with electric restless energy, the need to feel the weight of a gun in his hand again almost tangible. He was absolutely miserable. He tried to find joy in things that once held novelty to him, but indulging in hobbies almost felt.. selfish now. He needed to contribute to a higher purpose, and it certainly wasn't getting done with him just sitting around like this.  
  
He paused in front of mirrors every time he saw one, almost puzzled by his own face. It was not his armor, it would never be his armor again. He rarely looked anything but stoic anymore. _A suit of armor.._  
  
He went out into the streets searching for a purpose. Some career or fulfillment that would occupy his need to take action. But after searching fruitlessly for months, he still had found nothing, and fell into a slump.  
  
One day, he happened to be walking and particularly lost. Not lost geographically, just confused about himself. He wasn't looking up and only realized how long he'd been staring at the ground when he shoulder-checked someone walking the opposite direction. "Hey, watch it!" the man shouted, turning on his heel. Sam frantically turned around and opened his mouth, the apology already halfway out by the time he met the man's eyes. The rest of it never made it that far.  
  
He was short - he couldn't possibly have been taller than 5'6", with some generous rounding - and he had fluffy dark hair and deep, rich brown eyes. They paused and stared, open-mouthed, at one another for a moment. _He's.. really pretty._  
  
Sam chased the thought away before removing his hands from his hoodie pocket and holding it out for the man to shake. "I-I'm sorry, I wasn't looking," he managed to say with a relative degree of confidence. "I'm Sam."  
  
The man grinned, and it really was adorable. "Mason." He gave Sam a single firm shake before letting him go. He scrambled for words for a moment before saying, "Let's, um, not talk here. You wanna.. go grab some coffee?"  
  
A warm sort of emotion spread through him and he surprised his reserved, not-very-personable self by saying, "That sounds great."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Sam quickly learned some more things about him. His name was Mason Wu, he was honorably discharged about ten months before Sam was on account of having to get a leg amputated, and he had a wife and three daughters. They began to frequent the same coffee shop as time went on, visiting it on a near-daily basis. Sam enjoyed the routine, and was glad that he had found a friend to spend some of his time with. Every now and then, he felt a twinge of guilt for not having gotten back in touch with Isaac yet, but he was doing so well that it usually slipped his mind.

They talked about everything they could think to; the political climate, the war, pets, old lovers, the crime in the city. Sam noticed that Mason was particularly passionate talking about crime, balling up his fists and ranting about how he couldn't stand it. He talked constantly about how much he wanted to do something about it. "So why don't you do something about it?" Sam asked, cradling a mug between his hands carefully.

Mason scowled, leaning his chin into his palm. "Well, I can't join the local police force," he'd grumbled. "They don't think I'm in good enough condition. And it's not like I can very well be a vigilante."

"Well, why not?"

Mason's frown had disappeared, his eyebrows jumping up in surprise. His eyes moved to Sam's and he felt weirdly in a spotlight under his gaze. Something passed between them in that moment and Sam understood. He had found a new purpose.


	6. Espionage: An Art, But Not A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Mason get back to their roots and back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long y'all, school is hard and I'm a got damn idiot

"Mason, come in."  
  
Radio silence. _Are these things really too cheap to work from this far away??_  
  
"Mason?"  
  
"Sorry, sorry, uh, copy."  
  
"Do you have eyes?"  
  
"Yeah, uh, there's just one over here. The walkway's clear."  
  
"How long do I have?"  
  
Mason clicked his tongue, watching through the scope of his rifle, never once moving a muscle. Sam found his discipline both uncanny and admirable. "Forty-five seconds. Better hurry. And keep it quiet."  
  
Sam scoffed. "You think I'm some kind of amateur? Out."  
  
He darted out from behind a crate, holding his gun with both hands, barrel aimed to the ground. This was what he had missed about the military: the stakes, the pounding of his heart, the heavy, sturdy feeling of a weapon in his hand. It felt familiar, more safe than safety, more comfortable than a home. The security of being armed and dangerous was a far better reassurance to his paranoid mind than being behind any locked door. He rolled the butt of his pistol in the palm of his hand.  
  
He thought about Mason and the chemicals flooded his brain, a cheesy grin spreading across his face even as he pressed his back against the wall and waited for the footsteps to fade. He thought about how beautiful he had looked when he was packing for the mission, glancing over his shoulder with a witty retort, but Sam had hardly been listening. He still wasn't used to the gushy feeling he got from even just looking at him. The footsteps were gone and he felt the rush subside slightly, like a tide leaving the shore, and rushed down the hallway, only half thinking about his actions anymore. He had been mentally ticking down the seconds until he got a little too excited and only realized he had taken too long when he emerged on the other side with a start, another patrol guard looking at him, surprised.  
  
His finger twitched and it pulled the trigger. He hadn't even realized it had been in the guard. A bullet pinged off the ground and ricocheted off a wall, causing the guard to duck down and cover his ears. Sam frantically wrapped his hand around the long side of the barrel and beat the butt of it over the guard's head. He collapsed to the ground, his body twisted awkwardly.  
  
"That better not have been you," Mason's voice crackled through his earpiece.

Sam hissed through his teeth and dragged the body out of sight. "Sorry, sorry, got a little distracted," he said softly, hoping not to be heard. "No kill."

"Bad trigger discipline? Must be amateur hour." Sam rolled his eyes and darted through the open field, stepping lightly and slowing down once he made it inside the building on the other side. "What were you distracted thinking about?" his cutesy, teasing tone of voice was impossible to ignore and Sam's face bunched up in embarrassment.

"My brains all over that tunnel wall if I don't get it together," he replied sarcastically, mentally counting doors as he walked and making doubly sure his index finger rested outside the guard. When he found the correct one, he whisked a small boxy computer out of his pocket and attached it to the door handle securely. This was the first time they had field tested it and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous about relying on it. He could pick the lock himself if worse came to worst, but that would waste precious time and attention. It beeped twice gently in his earpiece and he swiped it away, opening the door and closing it behind him as quietly as he could while being so frantic.

"I'm inside," he whispered, aiming his pistol at the ceiling. He _knew_ it was a bad habit, he _knew_ it was bad discipline, but he felt safer imagining having to aim down at an enemy rather than up. Not that he particularly wanted to be shooting anybody. He felt bad about merely having to knock out the one.

"Okay, great. You know what you're looking for?"

Sam chuckled once, almost humorlessly. "'Course." He stood up straighter, less in a combat position now, eyeing the tidy file folders on the desk. "We're lucky this guy's so organized." He rifled through a few of them, specifically the ones outlining deals, which included a perfectly balanced checkbook and dates on every shipment going in and out and to whom the contents were sold. _I never thought I'd see the day that being neat was a setback._ He grabbed the documents that he needed, folding them neatly into thirds and sliding them into the knife sheath at his thigh. "Alright, I'm ready."

"How fast can you be out of there?"

Sam glanced at the window. "Fifteen seconds."

Mason grunted in affirmation, putting the sniper rifle on his back. He really only used it for the long-range scope. He pulled the remote detonator out of his pocket and backed as far away from the complex as he could get without leaving the small shed he'd been hiding in. "Okay, blowing charges in fifteen--"

And with that, Sam was off like a shot.

He opened the window, which was on the second story of the floor, and leapt out over the side, grabbing the edge of the windowsill with both hands and dropping to the ground. He sprinted to the front of the complex now, not caring if anybody saw him. There shouldn't be anyone here this late; according to their data, all of the staff should be gone by now--

He skidded to a halt as he remembered the guard he'd knocked out. He couldn't just leave that guy for dead. For all Sam knew, he was just in debt to some drug lords and was serving out that money here. In half a second, he groaned and was back through the tunnel, grabbing his body, hoisting it over his shoulders, and bolting in the right direction. His legs were screaming, and he could hear Mason's voice saying, "Four, three, two--"

 _I have to get as far away from this as possible, and I don't think I'll be able to run,_ he figured, in a strange moment of clarity. With the last of his strength, he lifted the man above his head and tossed him like a javelin, praying he would make it to the other side of the road. He heard the explosion right at his heels and launched himself into the air, feeling heat singeing his feet and the back of his legs. He landed on his chest, the wind knocked out of him, but he was still very much alive.

Mason erupted from the shed about twenty feet away, darting towards Sam. "Holy shit, are you okay?? What took you so long?"

Sam gasped for air, propping himself up on his arms and looking ahead of him. There across the road was the body of the guard, twisted awkwardly, and Sam winced as he thought about the bruises that guy was certainly going to have, but he hadn't died. He'd successfully spared another life.

Sam nodded towards the guard, hoping that was explanation enough. Mason saw him and seemed to understand. He helped Sam to his feet, holding him around the waist as they staggered as quickly as possible to the getaway vehicle. He ran through the list of everything that could have been injured, and asked Sam about each of these things, who waved him away and answered every question saying that he was fine, but that was what he always said.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Mason leaned up and kissed him on the jaw, making Sam gasp slightly and grin stupidly, looking away. "Thank you," he said. Sam wasn't really sure what he was thanking him for, but he knew that Mason was really happy now that they were back to work and being productive, happy that Sam had helped him get back on his stride. Sam liked it too. And he was starting to think he liked Mason even more than the work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should add that Mason is not cheating on Megan!! Megan knows about Sam and is okay with it and thinks they're really cute and dorky together


	7. Three to Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reunites with an old friend. It doesn't go as planned.

Mason pointed to one corner of the map, holding his chin with his other hand. "Right, so it's only logical that we'd have to rendezvous here, at the midway point."

Sam frowned. "But we don't have eyes over there," he said, gently circling the area with one finger. "We'd be running through the area completely blind. It's not doable."

"You don't have any contacts out there? Not even just a friend who wouldn't mind helping?"

Sam pondered this for a second and suddenly, it was as though a fog had cleared in his mind, the bold outline of the county making a connection that had been hidden from him until this moment. "Actually," he said. "I just might. You mind if I make a phone call?"

Mason sat down, poring over the map. "Go ahead, let me know how it goes." He smirked up at Sam. "Unless, of course, this friend of yours is some beautiful boy who might steal you away from me." Sam rolled his eyes and laughed mockingly, pulling out his phone and looking up the number he'd been meaning to call for a long, long while now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Hey, this is Isaac."

He swallowed. Isaac's voice was a little deeper, a little more mature than he remembered it being. "Hey, uh, it's.." He stumbled over his words, suddenly caught off guard. _What's wrong with me?? Get it together!_ "It's Sam."

There was a moment's silence. "Sam?" he said like he couldn't believe it. "Fr-from the army?"

"Yeah," Sam said on a happy breath. _Why did I wait so long to get back in touch with him? Stupid, stupid, stupid._ "Do you think.. we could get together to chat sometime soon?"

"Of course!" Isaac replied, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. "It's been too long since we got to catch up."

Sam's heart sank. "Yeah, um, that actually might have to wait. I have some business to discuss. I'd love to, but this is.. pretty urgent. I don't have anywhere else to turn." He hoped that Isaac understood the extralegal implications of the job, and he seemed to.

"Well, you can meet me while I'm at work, if that works for you," he said, not seeming upset by Sam's dismissal of their personal time. "I have to go in pretty soon, but you can come in and talk to me. It doesn't matter."

Sam's heart soared a little more than he would have liked to admit. He was going to see him again. _Today._ "That works fine! You mind if I bring a friend?"

He said the last part a bit emphatically, hoping it implied "partner in crime" more than "partner". Even if they were, he didn't want Isaac to know that. Sam was a lot more open about his sexuality now, much more comfortable with being gay, and he felt pretty fucking stupid for missing out on Isaac. "Sure," Isaac said, almost disinterested. "I'll send you the address. You can come anytime after, oh, eight. See you then." And he hung up before Sam could say goodbye.

Sam groaned, slamming his head down on the table. He knew that both himself and Mason were okay with polyamorous relationships, given Mason's wife, but he still felt weird about it. _Maybe I'd been accidentally leading him on all those years and he's over me now._ He glanced up at the ping indicating the text from Isaac; it was the address to a nightclub called Amnesia. _Huh. I guess he would like the nightlife scene. Wonder what he's been up to since the war._

Sam figured he had no idea how this was going to go. He thought things would be a little awkward and the romantic tension between him and Isaac would still be present. He figured he might have a difficult time focusing on getting the job done and have to talk to Mason at some point about maybe getting together with him. His thoughts were all a huge tangled wad of string, spinning ever faster as they drove to the club. He tried to take deep breaths and calm himself down, telling himself over and over that the only thing he knew for certain is that he couldn't predict how the events would unfold, and that he had to be okay with that. They stepped out of the car, waited their turn in line, and got approved by the bouncer. Sam's heart was pounding in his throat the whole time. _It's going to be alright. Just look for Isaac._

He didn't have to look long.

Three steps into the nightclub, he spotted him, in an outfit that left very little to the imagination, with one leg wrapped around a pole, holding his other in place, as he grasped the pole at arm's length and lazily spun in a circle, his other arm dangling down as he smiled seductively at a watchful crowd. Mason noticed how Sam had frozen up, going completely red in the face, and tugged on his sleeve gently. "Is that him..?" he asked slowly, not sure whether to laugh or not. Sam nodded and forced his feet to move towards the stage in the middle of the room. Mason followed, cheesing from ear to ear. Isaac grinned when he saw them and waved, and it was a shit-eating grin that made Sam instantly understand he'd planned this all along. He blushed a little more as he waved Isaac over to one of the side tables with a pole in the middle, him and Mason sitting down as Isaac swung gracefully onto the tabletop.

"Hey, glad you could make it!" he said cheerfully, squatting down and resting one knee on the table, his fingers splayed out to keep his balance.

Sam cleared his throat and did his best to smile warmly. "Yeah, it's nice to see you again," he said in a way that he hoped sounded calm. "This is Mason. Mason, Isaac." Mason looked like he wanted to reach out and shake Isaac's hand, but wasn't sure if that was appropriate and settled for smiling and nodding.

Isaac looked up, a little paranoid, and stood up abruptly, starting to dance again. "Shit, sorry, my boss is right there, I can't stop working."

Some of the color drained from Sam's face. "O-oh, of.. of course. No worries." Isaac snickered to himself. Lozano was probably sitting upstairs in his office right now, high off his ass and certainly not here to see if everyone was doing their job.

Sam cleared his throat again and straightened up in his chair, collecting his thoughts. "So, um, we're doing a.. bit of a project in the area and you know it fairly well. I just have a few questions about the regular activity."

Isaac was dangling upside down, the fluffy hair on the top of his head drooping down and almost brushing the table. "Okay, shoot."

"How much traffic would you say there is in the area around midnight? Any drug deals happening, or lots of people around?"

Isaac thought about this. "Well, obviously scenes like this are flooded late at night," he said, pensive. "I don't think there are that many drug deals in the more isolated parts of town though, not much foot traffic late at night."

Sam was mentally taking notes. He thought it'd be a little suspicious to bring in an actual pad of paper. "Okay, how about any.. deliveries..." He trailed off, eyes taking in Isaac's pectorals, rippling under his movements. The intricate muscles of his legs and arms, his abdominal muscles shiny with sweat, whole body swaying to the thump of swing music, all clung to by tight black spandex.

Smirking, Isaac looked down his nose at Sam, his half-lidded gaze tantalizing. "See something you like?"

"I--" Sam flushed beet red and his spine went rigid. Mason snorted and kicked him under the table. Sam glared at him. _So maybe he isn't as ignorant about this.. thing as I thought._ "Any delivery trucks that go through the area at night?"

Isaac looked thoughtful for another moment and then dropped onto his hands and knees. "You know, I think this might be easier if we didn't have to shout. Less chance of your cover getting blown and all that," he said in a tone of voice that didn't quite sit right with Sam, causing him to instinctively tense up. "How about I give you a lapdance?" Mason choked on a laugh, keeling over in his chair. Sam's mouth opened and shut several times, his face burning. "It doesn't have to be long, I won't even charge you, but you think that might make it easier..?"

Sam swallowed. "Well, uh, I, I mean, you could, uh, you could do it to Mason," he said, desperately hoping that his boyfriend would get him out of this.

But Mason only reappeared, his cheeks red from laughing, and said, still hacking out a few chuckles, "No, no, you go ahead. I don't want to take any of your fun."

Sam gave him a pointed look and turned back to Isaac, who was sitting back on his legs waiting for a reply. "I.." Sam, really, no other choice. "Sure."

He held his breath as Isaac climbed onto the chair he was in, resting his hands on his shoulders. "Not so bad, is it? I won't do much, just gotta make it seem like I'm working and shit." Sam nodded slowly, casting another glance towards Mason that was a little more of an "oh, when we get out of here" face. Mason smiled back, a little trepidation playing at his lips, but otherwise still the sadistic smile of a man who was watching his partner get a lapdance from the guy who had a crush on him in high school.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few days later, the phone rang, and Isaac already knew the number. He'd made extra sure to save it.

"Hello?"

"So, just making sure. You're aware that Lozano's a terrible person, right?"

"Yeah?"

"You want a job?"


	8. Maybe You Talk Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Mason, and Isaac go out on a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic depictions of violence in this one, folks  
> (Edit: fixed some grammatical errors)

"Felix, this is Locus, come in."  
  
"10-4."  
  
Sam switched to the other channel. "Siris, this is Locus, come in."  
  
"10-4."  
  
He opened the channel to both of them. "Are you both in position?" He got two affirmative answers and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He still felt a little on edge despite having done at least a dozen jobs with the two of them by now. The codenames were new, but they weren't hard to remember and they were, at the end of the day, a safety precaution. They may have been taking too many preventative measures, but it felt better. Sam bit his lip. Some of them were taking.. far too many preventative measures.  
  
_Mason watched as Isaac loaded another gun and put in the bag. He'd done this about five times now, and Mason looked up at Sam, who was folding his arms and staring at the floor, concerned. He jutted his head at Isaac and gritted his teeth, in the universal signal for "do something." Sam sighed. "Isaac..." he started, somewhat trepidatious. "Do you really need all those guns?"_  
  
_"Um, yes," Isaac replied, sounding insulted. "You never know what you'll need. You're paranoid, you get this shit." Sam closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. The jabs at his mental health only came out when he was feeling insecure, and he knew this, but that didn't make them any less insulting._  
  
_"I think what Sam is trying to say is that you.. really shouldn't need that many, seeing as we're going to be killing as little as possible," Mason supplemented, choosing his words carefully. That made Isaac pause and look up over his shoulder._  
  
_He grappled with words before finally saying, "You-- don't tell me you actually care about them?" he said, disbelieving. "They're the bad guys, there's nothing wrong with killing them." Sam and Mason exchanged another glance, concern and anger bubbling to the surface. Even though he had hurt in his eyes, Mason didn't know the extent of this mentality. He hadn't been there in the UNSC to see exactly how little he valued life, exactly how far this went. Sam knew everything, and he wasn't about to forget._  
  
Sam shook the memory of that morning away, watching the patrols and mentally counting down the seconds. As soon as the coast was clear, he darted out, crouched close to the ground and mentally reviewing the map he'd so carefully memorized. _Okay, so I should be upon the ramp in about fifty feet, and then..._ He kept carefully tucked into himself and tapped his mouthpiece twice. "Just a second," came Mason's hushed reply.  
  
There was the sound of approaching footsteps behind him and he started, pressing his back against the wall, panic rising. He couldn't possibly have miscalculated. Something was very wrong. Hurriedly, he opened a channel and whispered, "2-4-1-10--"  
  
"Well, I'll be. If it isn't Sam Ortez."  
  
Muscles tense, he looked over his shoulder up into the face of an old pal from the army. "Long time, no see, eh?" Gabriel said before rearing back and kicking him roughly in the side. He skidded and rolled a few feet, holding his ribs, coughing.  
  
"You motherfucker," he wheezed out. "We thought you were dead."  
  
Sam was vaguely aware of a patrol coming around the corner. "That was your first mistake," Gabriel said, holding up one finger, almost playfully chastising. "Coming here is your second." He grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Sam almost reached for the handgun at his hip, but thought better of it when he noticed the men starting to surround him.  
  
His headset buzzed. "Locus? What's going on?" He didn't dare answer.  
  
Gabriel turned around and shoved him into the throng, and Sam was surprised to see that they were ready to catch him. Two of them grabbed each of his arms, pulling them as far as they would go and holding him completely still. He tried to yank himself out to no avail. "You were always wearing that friggin' Locus helmet," Gabriel said from a few feet in front of him. "I could see that stupid green X from a mile away. It's like you just didn't want people to see your face. I got so sick of lookin' at that thing."  
  
Sam's heart was pounding in his throat. All he knew was that something really, really bad was about to happen. The men put their hands on either side of his head, keeping it still.  Gabriel approached slowly, drawing a knife from a holster on his thigh and bearing a sickening smile. "I've been waiting a long time to do this."  
  
The realization hit Sam like a brick wall on the freeway. "No," he breathed, starting to get louder and more panicked, trying to thrash around within their grip. "No, no, no--" He cut himself off as suddenly, Gabriel was inches from him and put his left hand on his face, preventing him from moving at all. He rested the tip of the knife just above Sam's left eyebrow. He felt like he couldn't breathe.  
  
He screamed as the knife bit into his flesh, blood flowing down his face and over his eyelid. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't think. It was like somebody was jamming his brain. " _Sam!!_ " he heard from somewhere in the distance. That definitely wasn't through his earpiece. _Isaac..?_  
  
The knife continued to leave a trail of pain, searing and wet, and more blood dripped into his mouth and down his chin. He panted out his pain, a little more prepared for the second cut when it came, but not so prepared that he could stifle a second cry of agony.  
  
It traced down his cheekbone, finally leaving his skin, and everything let go of him at once. He dropped to the ground, crouching and holding his face with his right hand, trying not to scream again. The pain was blinding, there was blood in his eyes, and he could barely comprehend what was happening. He heard several gunshots and then running footsteps drawing near. A figure skidded to a halt and stooped down beside him.  
  
"Sam!!" It was Isaac. "What just happened, are you okay?!"  
  
"I c-can't see," was all he managed to stammer out.  
  
Isaac was obviously panicking. "Can you walk?" Sam nodded and accepted Isaac's arm, who helped him stand up and hobble away from the complex. "I'm taking you back to the ship."  
  
Sam stood up straighter. "What?" He tried to dig his heels in, but he felt fuzzy, too absent from reality. "No, I gotta.. help."  
  
"You _can't see,_ " Isaac said insistently, dragging him along a little faster. He looked up suddenly and started. "Fuck, watch your twelve!"  
  
"I'm not watching _anything!_ " Sam growled, but regardless, he drew the gun with his left hand and fired several blind shots in front of him.  
  
"Guys, what the hell is going on??" Mason said over the comms.  
  
Isaac scanned the area, and when he found no one, replied, "Sam-- Locus-- he's seriously hurt. We gotta get out of here."  
  
"Oh shit, is he gonna be okay?"  
  
"Yes," said Sam at the same time as Isaac said, "I don't know."  
  
"Look, can you handle things from here?" Isaac added after glaring at his partner.  
  
Mason sputtered. "Wh-- you want me to take care of the rest of this by myself??"  
  
"I have to watch over Sam--"  
  
"I'm fine," Sam interrupted insistently, but it was very clear from his completely red face, staggering walk, and slurred speech that he was not. "You guys take care of this. I'll patch myself up."  
  
Mason thought for a second, opening and closing his mouth a few times. "Dammit, okay, you guys go. I'll wrap up and meet you back there in.. some amount of time."  
  
"Fuck, thanks, Mace," Isaac said, and they shut down the channel. Sam thought something to himself about how after weeks of effort, they still were terrible about using codenames before he stopped being able to form coherent thoughts.


	9. Safety Net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason and Isaac help Sam deal with his newfound problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for continued talking about and maintenance of Sam's scar

Sam had already bled through three pairs of bandages by the time Mason got back. Isaac was frantically hovering around him, offering medication and comfort despite Sam's strained insistence that he was fine. When Mason walked in, though, he visibly slumped as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Mace, thank God. Did you--?"

"Yeah, it's all taken care of," Mason interrupted, putting his hands down on either arm of the chair Sam was in. "And I found out about Gabriel, too. He abandoned your squad in that last fight because he was afraid of dying and started a crime ring to build up a new identity. Apparently that's all. But are you okay? Is this.. are you gonna heal?"

Sam considered for a moment the pulsating pain and the blood oozing out of his face before replying, "Yes."

"It won't stop bleeding," Isaac said, worriedly keeping a hand on Sam's shoulder. "The cuts must just be.. really fuckin' deep."

"We're probably gonna have to stitch it up," Mason offered reluctantly, eliciting a groan from Sam.

Isaac bit his lip. "Can-- can we do that?"

"Sure, Mason knows how," Sam said. "It should be relatively simple, if a bit tedious."

Mason frowned. "We don't have anything like the kind of anesthesia you would need to tolerate that kind of pain, though."

Isaac blurted out (before Sam could say that he would just bear it, because he fucking _knew_ that's what Sam was going to say), "What if we just get you really drunk?"

Sam stiffened up. He shared a glance with Mason, who gave a tight-lipped shrug in response. "Okay, fine," Sam said finally. Isaac left the room and returned with a few bottles and some supplies. Sam opened one of them, took a tentative sip, and recoiled at the taste. He shook his head as if to chase the burn away and closed his eyes as Mason began to clean the cuts. "Mason, no matter what I say, do not stop."

Mason paused in his work. "O...kay?" He had no idea what would cause him to say such a thing, but it made him worried.

"Masooooooon," Sam was slurring an hour later, long since slumped out of his chair with Mason practically holding him against the floor to work at the third section. "You should, like, stop."

Mason gritted his teeth. "Can't, sorry." He poked the needle through his skin another time and pulled, causing Sam to scrunch up his face and whine. "Don't do that," he said, irritated. "You're making this harder."

"Y'know what we should do?"

Mason sighed. "What's that, Sam?"

"We should stop and you should just.. ffffffffffuck me up."

Mason raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? I'm sure washing all the sheets and pillowcases that have giant red stains on them will be really fun afterwards. Not to mention the hospital trip from the blood loss."

"You're no fuuuun," Sam said, sticking his tongue out. Mason made another suture. "Owwwwwww. You suck and I hate you."

He took a deep breath and ignored it. "You'll thank me for this later," he said, half to himself. "Okay, only one part left to go. Do you need to take a break?"

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"Which is it?"

"Can I just have a little more to drink?"

Mason sighed, but passed him a bottle anyways. "You know, you're gonna regret this tomorrow."

"No, I'm not. I'm building up all of my tolerance right now," Sam said, and slugged an unreasonable amount of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam slowly opened his eyes, feeling sticky, pain pulsing behind his face. Isaac looked up from the bedside when he let out a slight groan, sitting up and pressing his hand to his forehead. A stab of pain shot through it at the effort, and it occurred to him that he was hung over. He could barely remember anything from the past few days, but that didn't explain why his face hurt so fucking much.

"Why does my--?" He cut himself off as his fingers brushed across a suture. His stomach dropped. "Oh."

He remembered the knife. He remembered the searing burn of its cut. He remembered being hauled back to the ship and the drinking and the stitches. A long moment passed. "Oh."

"Oh," said Isaac, also, because he didn't know what else to say.

Even though it hurt, Sam dragged his fingertips across every inch of the wound, testing its bounds. Feeling the angry tears simmer up through his throat. He would never, ever escape this.

He started putting makeup on it the moment the sutures fell out.


	10. Getting the Band.. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Mason get up to some stuff.

“Hey, you doin’ okay..?”

Sam looked up from his book into the cautious face of Isaac. He pursed his lips and shut the book roughly. “For the last time, I’m _fine_. Everything is healing correctly, I am not experiencing any dizziness or visual impairment or headaches. I am _fine_.”

Isaac bit his lip and nodded. “Right, yeah. I just.. want to be here if you need anything.” Sam adjusted his reading glasses, and Isaac smiled a little bit.

_“What?” Sam said just below a growl. Isaac had been staring at him and holding in a laugh for a good thirty seconds._

_“It’s just--” Isaac cut himself off with a snicker. “You look so.. dadly. Like a college professor.”_

_He rolled his eyes and waved away the comment. “I don’t wear them for how they look.”_

_“Also, isn’t it not good that you need glasses at all? Doesn’t seem like the makings of a good sniper to me.”_

_“That implies you know something about being a sniper,” Sam replied without looking up. In truth, the glasses didn’t do anything at all. He felt that they enhanced the experience of reading and got some frames that just had glass. But Isaac could never know that._

_He still doesn’t._

“I appreciate that you want to be here for me,” Sam said, picking around his words gently, not intending to hurt Isaac’s feelings, “but I really am okay. It rarely hurts anymore and I can do just about everything by myself again.”

Isaac glanced down at the table and picked up the mug sitting to Sam’s left. “You want some more tea?”

Sam smiled at him, almost embarrassed. “I can.. I can get my own. You don’t have to do that.” But he was already on his way to the kitchen. Sam groaned and slumped back in the recliner. He was such a pain sometimes.

Mason entered quickly, looking a little harried. He saw Sam and snapped his fingers as though suddenly remembering something and said, “Hey, we’re on for Friday night, yeah?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, frowning. “Why?”

He leaned against the doorframe, his cheek squishing against it. Sam had a brief thought about how cute he looked all concerned like this before shaking it away. “My thing isn’t ready,” he said, almost whining. “I haven’t heard from the shop in a while and I’m worried.”

Sam sat up a little bit. “Well, don’t you still have your old one?”

“Well, _yeah,_ but it’s way less cool.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Mason’s pouting face. “It’s going to be fine,” he assured him. “Nobody’s going to mind if we don’t have all new equipment by Friday. It’s just the four of us, you know.”

“I know,” Mason sighed. “Just a little disappointed.” He turned to leave and whipped over his shoulder, glaring at no one in particular. “And tell Curtis to fucking bring snacks this time.”

Sam nodded as Mason walked out, laughing again, and Isaac returned with a steaming cup. He set it down on the table and said nothing, only smiled. Sam looked up at him and said, “Babe, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

He squatted down next to the chair. “I wanted to. Why do you have a problem with people doing nice things for you?” Sam scowled and looked away. He didn’t answer. Isaac shook his head, promising to return to this another time, and playfully batted at Sam’s hand. “So hey, how are things with the band?”

Sam started, embarrassed, and made eye contact with Isaac before looking away entirely. “Things are fine. We really just. Mess around.” His words started and stopped abruptly. “It’s not-- we’re not trying to.. We really just do it for fun.”

His phone pinged in his lap. _Hey man, so split four ways, we’re getting about 800 each for the gig on Saturday. You and Mace up for dinner after the show?_ He grit his teeth and pushed his thighs closer together. Isaac scooted closer to the chair and leaned on the arm of it. “C’mon, I haven’t even heard you guys’s music. I’ve barely heard you sing before!” Sam glared at him. Isaac put on an obnoxious grin. “Are you good?”

When Sam didn’t reply at first, Isaac said, “Well, you should let me sit in on your rehearsal sometime. I really want to hear you.” Sam blushed and looked away. Isaac patted his hand twice and stood up. “Alright, enjoy your book.” He left the room as Sam’s phone pinged again. He picked it up to see a picture of a bright red Firebird V with a sparkling finish, followed by the message _:D !!!!!!!!_


	11. Avarice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Mason, and the band have some fun.

"Hey!"

Sam jumped in surprise. Isaac was leaning over the back of the chair Sam was sitting in, his face upside down and mere inches from Sam's. He held his phone out so Sam could read and half-yelled, "When were you planning on telling me about this??"

Sam blinked and read the headline. _Twisted Scripture set to open for alternative pop band Haywire._ His eyes went wide and he looked at Isaac, immediately regretting it. "Just a garage band my ass!!" he said, grinning widely. He came around the chair and held his arms out. "When did this happen?? You're headlining with fucking Haywire?!"

"Yes," he admitted tentatively, causing Isaac to make another disbelieving gesture with his arms. "We didn't say anything because I knew this is how you would react."

"First of all, fuck you," Isaac said, mostly playful. "And second, did you really think you could just.. hide the fact that your guys' band is steadily growing more popular?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, looking away indignantly.

"You were.. just gonna keep it on the DL? And hope that I never found out? Did you really think that was gonna work?"

"Shut up and also leave me alone," Sam grumbled after a few moments, half-smiling. Isaac laughed and bolted out of the room to go harass Mason.

~~~~~

The stage was completely dark, the stadium full, but silent in anticipation. A single spotlight broke through the silence, catching particles in the air, beating down on Mason. His toned arms were exposed and he kept his eyes closed as he played the first few gentle riffs, increasing in volume. Two more spotlights came down in rapid succession, casting harsh shadows on Curtis and Mark, who both remained motionless. At last, a spotlight fell on Sam, holding his arms just so, his head tilted up and to the right, a microphone inches from his lips. He opened his eyes over so slightly and gave the crowd a lopsided grin. They cheered when he appeared on the stage. They always cheered.

" _Just a dimestore poet, keeping pace, talking his face blue_ "

He made grand, sweeping motions with his arms almost as if reality was suspended, taking a half-step forward with one knee bent and foot backwards, every move rehearsed. He addressed them all with dazzling charm.

" _Two dollar-store tramps to get a glance, a new chance at you_ "

Sam was not usually the kind of person who craved power, but commanding the crowd was the one thing he admitted indulgence to. He loved knowing that he had thousands of people at rapt attention, their eyes locked on every twitch of his fingers, every breath into his lungs.

" _Walk past the dance floor, that's always been a dear friend of mine_ "

He felt a little silly, strutting around like he was the most important person in the room ("the person with the biggest dick in the room," as Mason liked to say) and he swore left, right, and center that the attention wasn't going to his head, but...

" _Cuckolds and concubines, dancing in four-four time..._ "

The drumbeat dropped and Sam jerked his hip to the left in time. _Here we go._

~~~~~

A young boy, no older than eighteen, bounced as he reached the front of the line and gave a huge toothy grin. He was covered in freckles and he had short fluffy blonde hair. His smile was infectious and he held his print close to his chest. "Sorry, I just--" He interrupted himself to make a sort of excited squeal. "It's really you, this is just, wow, gosh..."

Sam laughed and smiled in a way that he hoped made him feel less nervous. "It's alright, you don't have to apologize. We're just people, you know."

"Right," said the boy. "Right." He handed over his print; it was of their first album cover, the four of them lined up against a brick wall with the word _Avarice_ spray-painted on it in neon green. Sam popped open a silver marker and held the cap between his thumb and forefinger.

"What's your name, kid?"

"David."

He signed _Lucas Iscariot_ in big, swooping letters and gave it back with his best smile. "Well, David, I'm glad you had a good time."

David grinned and stepped to the side. Sam watched the crowd for a moment before his attention was drawn back to the front by someone loudly announcing, "Hey, babe!" He whipped back around and saw Isaac with his hands on the table, a shit-eating grin curling up his face, people around them murmuring. Sam glanced around nervously.

Of course they'd been spotted together before, tabloid websites speculating as they would, and Sam had no reason to be secretive about his sexuality, but he'd been wondering when the right time to go public with this relationship was and apparently it was right now. "Heeey... baby!" he said, feigning more excitement than he felt. Evidently, he masked his irritation well. "What are you doing here..?"

"Aw," Isaac said, clutching his chest. "You really think I would miss this? I love seeing you guys."

A million thoughts were running through his head. _How did he get these tickets? How long has he been here?? Does Mason know???_ "You know what," he said, taking heed from that last thought, "how about Jason--" (and he stumbled here because he still couldn't fucking believe he'd chosen the stage name _Jason_ ) "--takes you backstage and we'll continue this later, yeah?"

Isaac's brow twitched and he stuck his tongue out for just a second before Sam snapped to get Mason's attention and tossed his head at Isaac. Mason's mouth opened and closed a bit before he rolled his eyes and marched around the table. Isaac continued to wave even as he was dragged further and further away. Sam turned to face the barrage of questions and took a deep breath, wondering what it was that made him love him so much.


	12. The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Isaac go to a ball on a job.

"Isaac, are you okay?"

Isaac blinked and met Sam's eyes, a worried expression on his face. He looked away, surveying the sparkling golden ballroom before them, dresses swishing this way and that, shoes clicking, glasses clinking together, as the line slowly moved forward. "Yeah, just.." He exhaled through his lips. "Really not in my element here."

"Well, you've dragged me to nightclubs a thousand times," Sam said, taking his hand. "Figure it's my turn."

Isaac shot him a look before continuing to glance around as though he was trying to find hidden cameras. "Well, at a nightclub, you can do whatever. You always just sat at the bar alone and no one seemed to mind. This is really formal and I'm not about that high society shit."

"Aren't we the hoi polloi," Mason said teasingly in a shitty New York accent over comms, causing both of them to stifle a laugh and silently curse him.

"Look, we'll be fine," Sam said reassuringly, giving a maître d' a charming smile. "Just act like you know what you're about and no one will question it. That's all 'high society' is." He made air quotes and straightened his tie. Isaac could not believe how good he looked in a suit. His hair was tied back neatly and the crisp, tight look just made him look so hot. He stared for a second before turning away and blushing, feeling out of place in this black tie affair. He felt stiff and the need to take off the jacket or, at the very least, roll up his sleeves was overwhelming.

Sam showed their invitations to the person at the door, all charm, and led Isaac through the huge room. He seemed incredibly focused; Isaac was still in awe of the long tables and huge chandeliers to think about what they were doing. The music was loud and swung dramatically. Sam pulled Isaac close to him and intertwined their fingers, wrapping his other hand protectively around his waist. "Right," he said, seeming not to notice the squeak that Isaac made. "Keep a look out for Reyes. Until we find him, just blend in."

The song ended a new one began, one with a jazzy four-four tempo. Isaac gripped Sam closely and kept his head tucked close to his chest. "I don't.. have any idea..."

Sam opened his mouth slightly. _He can't dance..?_ He had a few nights spent at Amnesia that sincerely begged to differ, but he supposed they were two different skill sets. That was Isaac's, and this was his. "Just follow my lead," he said under his breath, gently nudging his foot with his foot. "Big steps." Then he turned promptly, his grip on Isaac so tight that he was forced to do the same. "One, two.." He led him in the other direction, his initial confusion slowly replaced by dawning excitement. By the time Sam instructed, "One, two, three, and turn." he was beaming.

"Why do you know how to tango," he breathed in that way people do when they're trying to contain how ecstatic they actually are. It was barely a question.

Sam smirked and rolled his eyes, continuing to demonstrate some basic techniques. "You don't know everything about me."

They continued to dance, eyes peeled for their target, but could see nothing. Isaac picked up the steps quickly and freaked out when Sam dipped him without warning, but other than that, it passed without much event. Isaac, heart racing, said that he was going to get a drink and staggered away through the throng of people, still jittery from the surprise of it all. Sam leaned against and banister and watched him go, vowing that he needed to surprise him more often.

He hadn't been gone more than a few seconds when a hand was on his arm and pulled him back into the fray. The owner of the arm was not anywhere near as strong as he was and he only stumbled back into the crowd, shouting "Hey--!" He was at the beginnings of panic, already accounting for exits and weapons, when somebody swept themself into his arms and began awkwardly dancing. They couldn't seem to stop shaking.

Upon further examination, the somebody was a very small man, shorter than Mason, with blonde hair and rapidly darting eyes. Sam's muscles relaxed and he met the gaze of the man. "M-my, my ex is here.." He couldn't seem to get words out, as though he was on the verge of tears. "I don't, I can't.. fight him off..."

Understanding washed over Sam and he corrected the man's position gently. "You know how to dance?"

"Yeah?"

"Good. Stay close to me."

He wove them through the crowd, eyes still scanning, spinning and leading this poor guy he'd just met. "You need me to rough him up?" he said just under his breath, causing the man's eyes to go wide.

"No! I couldn't.. it's complicated," he said, as though he wanted to explain but couldn't. "I just.. want to be safe if.. something happens." Sam nodded and twirled him around again, juggling all the things he needed to keeps tabs on.

"Jeremy!!"

The man stiffened up and Sam's head shot up towards the source of the voice. It was a tall and lanky man in a suit that was just a little too big, pushing people aside to break through the crowd. Sam clutched the man - Jeremy? - tighter to him, giving the man a pointed look. He only paused for a second before continuing his rampage and storming up to them. "You got a lot of nerve showing your face here. I told everybody about what happened. You don't--"

Sam glared at the man and made a point of stopping their dance and putting himself in front of Jeremy. He towered over the guy, but he still puffed out his chest and turned his face down to be as intimidating as possible. "You wouldn't happen to be the skeeveball Jeremy was telling me about, would you?" The man swallowed and he looked to the side as if trying to find an escape, outwardly standing his ground. Sam held in a smirk. He cracked his knuckles against his jaw and said lowly so only the two of them could hear, "You leave him the hell alone or you're gonna be spreading rumors from under six feet of dirt. Got that?"

The man chuckled nervously and stammered, "Loud and clear!" before running off. Sam held Jeremy's shoulder protectively and they watched him go, coattails flying as he rushed out the door. As soon as he was gone, Jeremy burst into tears and collapsed into Sam's chest. Sam wasn't sure what to do at first, but settled for gently patting the top of his head and holding him around the back with the other. "I don't.. thank you..."

"You don't have to thank me," he said, continuing to pat him. "Are you alright if I leave?"

Jeremy nodded and they pulled apart. "But, I.. I'm so rude, I don't even know your name."

Sam grinned. "That's alright." He looked away and added, "It's probably better that you don't." Then, quieter, "Contact."

"What?"

"Never you mind."


	13. The Words "You've Changed"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason has a talk with Sam.

Mason knocked gently on Sam's door, as though afraid to ask for entry. Sam looked up and stood up from his chair, setting his phone down on the table. "Hey, what's up?"

"Um, can we talk?" Mason said, closing the door behind him. "Just the two of us."

Sam frowned and glanced past him as though Isaac would be there, as if to seek his approval. "Okay," he said slowly, forcing himself to let his guard down. This was, after all, his best friend and soulmate.

Mason clasped his hands together and said carefully, "I want to talk about Isaac." Sam had to fight tooth and nail to not instantly go on attack and jump to his defense. He didn't fully understand his instinctual need to protect his boyfriend, who was fully capable and intelligent, but he.. no. That was just what they did for each other. That's all that mattered.

"What about him?" he said after a long moment and a deep breath.

"I just.." Mason leaned against the wall and drummed against his arm with his fingers. "Have you noticed anything different about him?"

Sam pressed his back against the dresser. "Different how?"

"He's been so...violent recently." He held up his hands, almost as though he didn't think his explanation would be enough and needed to defend himself. "He's been getting more okay with killing, he-- he always brings way more guns than we need and has no gripes about civilian casualties, I--I'm just worried."

"What do you mean?" Sam said, his tone growing stern. He folded his arms across his chest.

Mason's eyebrows twitched, furrowing, trepidation starting to form. He seemed to know where this was going and wished that he didn't. "I'm just.. saying that I think it's rubbing off on you."

Sam squared his jaw and said nothing. Mason swallowed. "I don't think he's doing anything on purpose," he said abruptly. "He really does mean well, he just.. doesn't know exactly what he's doing."

"Do you mean to tell me," Sam said, monotone, "that a former UNSC professional mercenary does not know what he's doing."

Mason blinked. "Mercenary?"

That gave Sam pause. He quickly regained his composure. "We're people who get paid to do extralegal things, which often involve killing people." He lifted his hands in a sort of noncommittal shrug. "We're mercenaries."

After a moment passed, in which they both refused to break eye contact, Mason asked quietly, "Have you talked to him about this?" Sam opened and closed his mouth. "Look, I just think maybe we should all sit down and talk. We can all figure out what happened and come to a resolution."

"What happened?" Sam narrowed his eyes. "He's been like this. He's willing to do what needs to be done, even if that's difficult."

"He's killing people who don't need to die," Mason insisted. "You remember the war. You believed that life had inherent meaning. What happened to that Sam?"

"Don't you dare act like you know what the war did to me," he snarled, taking a step forward. He remembered nights years ago, when it was just him and Mason, lying side by side in bed with his hair spilling around his neck. Mason would twirl his finger through it as they talked, staring at each others' faces in the dark. His heart jabbed when as he remembered the night that they had that conversation, but he pushed it aside. He assumed a less offensive position and looked at the ground.

"I have my ways that I learned to live after that. So do you. That's his."

"Innocent people have to die because Isaac can't control himself?!" Mason exploded, throwing his arms out.

Sam clenched his fists. "How can you say that? Don't you love him? Do you even understand??"

"I don't!!" Mason screamed. A silence settled over them.

He inhaled sharply. "Look. He's changing you. Alright? You have never been like this until Isaac came along. He has you convinced that killing people is fine. This is new, and it's bad, and I want to stop it before it gets any worse." Sam's eyes widened and he shook with rage. "All I wanted to do was talk about this, it didn't have to be a fight."

"He hasn't changed me," he snapped. "He's reminded me of what's important. There is nothing wrong with what we're doing. I believe that."

Mason stared Sam in the eye and ground his teeth together. The understanding passed between them. "Fine," he said, poking Sam in the chest. "But don't come crying to me when this all blows up in your face." He turned around and slammed the door behind him.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, his breath speeding up. He collapsed to his knees and cried out, tears already streaming down his face.

The next morning, when Isaac asked where Mason was, Sam couldn't look him in the eye.

It was a few days before he was able to say what happened.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Isaac said when he finally found out. "We don't need him. We can do this together."

Together. Right. A suit of armor and a gun.

He couldn't sleep for weeks.


End file.
